


russian red

by windingwoods



Category: Joker Game (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Piano Bar AU, except they're actually detectives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7619677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windingwoods/pseuds/windingwoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The address Yuuki’s given her leads to a small building in the outskirts of the city, white painting and a rather anonymous look disrupted only by the neon sign perched on top of the door. It reads D Bar and Sakuma is starting to harbor second thoughts about all of this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	russian red

**Author's Note:**

> soooo uh this might be one of the most self-indulgent things i've ever written? whelp.  
> mostly i was just bugged by joker game being such a great, intriguing show and yet having so much underlying misogyny which is why i felt like i had to make some kind of fix-it content for it!  
> also 1) for kaminaga's characterization i picked bits and pieces from the drama cd and 2) yoru is the cat from the ova, who is totally the D-agency mascot.  
> i might or not write more for this verse tbh, depends on how inspired i get.  
> enjoy!!

“Do you have any idea of why you’re here?”

Sakuma takes a moment to analyze the situation she’s in. She’s in a cat cafe with whom she assumes might be a woman in her sixties (something tells her she can’t be so sure just yet) to discuss something related to her job as a private investigator.

Or at least that’s what she could make out of the rather cryptic letter she found in her mailbox the day before.

“You― would like to employ me?” she tries, grimaces at how her voice sounds faint and unconvinced to her own ears.

If this is really about her job then she’s not exactly making a great first impression.

The woman smiles, though it’s more of a grin-like thing meant for some kind of inside joke she only is allowed the key to understand, and Sakuma knows her best option right now is to stay on guard and ready to flee.

Military training is a hard thing to leave behind.

She stirs the cup of tea in front of her, tries her best not to visibly square up when the woman says, “I guess you could say that, speaking from a semantic point of view.”

 _Who the hell uses_ semantic _in a sentence―_

“Although my idea of employment might differ from what you have in mind, Sakuma-san.”

Sakuma doesn’t know if she wants to know where’s this conversation heading. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” the woman says, her gaze heavy all of sudden, “that I’m offering you a full-time job at my agency. As a detective, of course.”

Then she takes a sip from her drink and smiles down when a cat brushes against her shin, seemingly unaware of the inner turmoil that’s going on in Sakuma’s mind as they both just sit there, surrounded by cats on a lazy saturday afternoon.

Sakuma kind of wants her weekend back already.

“The money isn’t that good, to be honest.” The woman’s put her cup back down, something in the way her posture relaxes that feels a tad bit less challenging now. “But I believe it would be quite a stimulating workplace for you.”

“That’s pretty vague.” Sakuma hears herself speak before she can think twice about it and for a split second she holds her breath out of reflex, but the woman doesn’t seem that perturbed by her bluntness. Endeared might be a better word.

“Is there anything you’d like to know?” she asks.

There are many things Sakuma wants to know but, she figures, taking it slow might be for the best.

“By what name can I call you?”

The grin she gets is enough to make the hair on her nape stand up.

 

.

 

The address Yuuki’s given her leads to a small building in the outskirts of the city, white painting and a rather anonymous look disrupted only by the neon sign perched on top of the door. It reads _D Bar_ and Sakuma is starting to harbor second thoughts about all of this.

Still, she’s not one to turn down a challenge, especially one thrown at her like a bone by an old lady who has most certainly given her a false name.

 _Oh well_ , she thinks to herself, then walks through the door.

The first thing she notices is the music: it sounds like blues and the volume is not too high, enough to have a consistent presence but soft and soothing at the same time.

The lighting is easy on the eyes too, almost dim, and everything looks like it’s come out of some old, smoky espionage movie.

Sakuma has to admit the atmosphere feels quite classy, despite still not exactly the kind of place suited for detective work.

She’s about to make her way to the counter, already wondering if there’s a code word she’s supposed to know, if this is all a test Yuuki’s set up for her, when she notices a girl making her way to her.

She’s wearing a white blouse and high waisted black pants, lips curled up in the same trademark smirk as Yuuki.

“You must be Sakuma-san,” the girl greets her before Sakuma can give in to her survival instinct and decide to make a run for it.

 _I have so many regrets_ , her brain whines. “That’s me,” her mouth says out loud.

The girl’s smile widens. “I’m Miyoshi, nice to meet you. Please come this way.”

She gestures at a small wooden door behind the counter and Sakuma follows, mutters a _nice to meet you too_ that doesn’t make it to Miyoshi’s ears.

The door leads to an equally small hallway, which leads to (Sakuma heaves a sigh of relief at this) a much more spacious room.

There’s a table in the middle of it, some chairs scattered all around it, and Yuuki looking up at them from her place at the head of the table.

“Sakuma-san,” she greets her, something in the way her glance lingers on her face that makes multiple alarm sirens go wild in the back of Sakuma’s head. “You know how to play the piano, don’t you?”

 

.

 

She has no idea of what she’s currently doing with the state of her life.

“Long story short, you guys run a more or less clandestine detective agency using the bar as both your facade and your primary source of info,” she says, a feeble attempt at putting together the pieces of the world she’s just been tossed right into.

Yuuki nods, Miyoshi hums in agreement.

“And you want me to work with you,” Sakuma goes on, “with my cover here being a pianist because _of course_ this place has a piano.”

Miyoshi hums again, and maybe there’s something like tucked laughter twitching in the corner of her mouth.

That might or not weight on Sakuma’s next terrible decision.

“You’ve just got yourself a really bad pianist.”

 

.

 

“I must admit,” Miyoshi drawls, leaning on the piano in one fluid, most likely carefully planned movement, “when you called yourself a really bad pianist I got worried for a moment.”

“What, really?” Kaminaga (Sakuma’s still learning all their names, likes to think she’s making progresses) chimes in. “But she’s so good!”

“Stop flirting with our new employee,” says the woman behind the counter― Fukumoto, the _both of you_ left unsaid but enough to make a dent in Miyoshi’s composed expression.

Sakuma makes a mental note of never compare her to anyone if she’s not one hundred percent sure it would be taken as flattery.

“I used to take lessons when I was younger.” She’s not sure whether anyone’s actually interested in her disclosing her childhood memories but she figures she might as well explain anyway.

Kaminaga cocks her head to the side, while Miyoshi starts making her way towards the counter. Her steps loosely follow the rhythm of the piece Sakuma’s playing.

“Man, wigs are such a _pain_ ,” she hisses as she fumbles with her hair― no, wig, and hums a contented sigh when it comes off.

“You have short hair,” Sakuma comments, earns herself three identical looks that pretty much translate to _how very observant_. Thankfully Fukumoto still takes pity on her.

“Some of us wear wigs at the bar, it’s part of our disguise.”

That seems to make Miyoshi laugh, even though it’s more like a sneer in between her teeth. “Men like pretty girls with long, oh so silky hair after all. They think the more conforming to their idea of our role we are, the less dangerous it makes us.”

“Then…” Sakuma turns to Kaminaga, whose hair reaches down to her waist.

“Kaminaga’s an idiot, so that’s her real hair and she will only have herself to blame the day it gets in her way during a mission.”

“Oh, so not a wig,” Sakuma says, regrets ever opening her mouth when Kaminaga leans closer, eyes peeking at her from behind heavy eyelashes.

“Wanna make sure?”

Sakuma nearly slams her hands on the piano.

 

.

 

It’s after a quiet night at the bar that she finds the resolve to ask, “is there any reason why there are no male employees here?”

Yuuki regards her with a cursory glance, face stony as she keeps going through her papers.

“The amount of faith I have in men, Sakuma-san,” she says, “is as low as it gets. I’d rather hire someone whose brain is not flushed with mandatory masculinity and ingrained self-importance.”

There’s a moment of silence after that, every girl in the room smiling the telltale smirk Sakuma’s learnt to be wary of, except this time she’s been let in on the inside joke too. It’s a pleasant feeling.

Then Hatano, because she’s Hatano, perks up with a much toothier grin. “Yoru is the only man this household truly needs!”

Miyoshi huffs at that, which seems to be the exact reaction Hatano was hoping for judging by the glint in her eyes.

“As long as he stops trying to eat my birds,” Tazaki comments, a long suffering edge in her words that makes Sakuma wonder just how much weirder than she already suspects are the private lives of her coworkers.

She supposes she’ll be let in on more and more of this in due time.


End file.
